


kein ayin hara

by schrodingers_zombie



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Good Cows, Intimacy, M/M, because. you know. symbolism., but it was fun to write so i don't even care if it's bad, it's just soft nothing, jewish martin, post-159, pre-160, so i wrote a bit around it, that's a lie i care very much but i'm posting it anyway, this is a nothing fic i just wanted to imagine martin with a hamsa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-13
Updated: 2020-02-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:48:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22688764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/schrodingers_zombie/pseuds/schrodingers_zombie
Summary: Jon doesn’t say anything, but he’s watching as Martin untangles himself from Jon’s limbs and reaches back to unclasp something from around his neck. He holds it up for Jon to see, and Jon touches the small hand-shaped pendant gently, then frowns.“An eye. Really, Martin? That’s not funny. Or, possibly, a good idea.”
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 11
Kudos: 158





	kein ayin hara

So Jon leads him out of the Lonely. Leads him home. Their hands are clasped together, and Jon doesn’t let go. His fingernails dig into Martin’s skin, and Martin -- still numb, feelings coming back sharp but distant like pins and needles in a numb limb -- relishes the tangibility, the realness.

At first he follows Jon, the archivist’s arm stretched back between them so he doesn’t let go of Martin’s hand. When they’re out of the cold fog of the Lonely, Martin feels his pounding heartbeat suddenly, and he quickens his pace, catches up to Jon, presses his body close to him as they walk. Their fingers are still intertwined.

The next few time periods -- days? hours? Martin isn’t sure -- pass in a blur. Pins and needles. Jon makes plans. He’s frantic, angry, scared. Keeps holding tight to Martin’s hand through it all. Somehow they make it to the safehouse, and for the first time in a very long time, Martin feels… almost  _ normal _ . What does that even mean anymore? He looks at Jon, who has let go of his hand at some point but now finds every opportunity to hold it again, and feels a protective rush of warmth flood his chest. 

For some part of their way there, they take a car, drive for hours. Jon drives. He keeps glancing at Martin, as if he’s scared he’ll disappear, and Martin hates the realization that it’s a reasonable fear. He tries not to just stare out the window in silence. Tries to make sure he stays present, both emotionally and… and otherwise. They don’t know exactly how the Lonely works.

They pass a field, at some point, with a small herd of those lovely highland cattle, and Martin is desperate for something to talk about, so he points them out. Jon stops the car right there. It’s stupid, probably, but they get out and go over to them. Jon leans over the fence, stretches out a hand, tries to get one of the cows to come over so he can pet them. They ignore him until Martin joins him up against the fence, and then they amble over curiously. Jon feigns offense. And then it’s like the wall breaks, and they start talking, chatting: inane stories about past bovine experiences, debates on what the best name for a cow would be (Martin is fond of the classics, old-lady-human names; Jon seems to believe that all animals deserve formal titles). It’s good. Something has opened up. When they go back to the car, get back to the long drive still ahead of them, the fact of what they’re escaping doesn’t change the lightness Martin feels.

They make jokes again. Jon laughs.  _ Martin _ laughs, and realizes that he hadn’t done that since first becoming Peter Lukas’s assistant, after… after the coma. Maybe even since before that. He tries to remember his first ever interaction with Peter. Had he already started back then? Or was it not the Lonely, just the trauma?

It doesn’t matter. He’s laughing now. Real laughter. They’re not safe, not really, Martin doesn’t need beholding powers to know that, but he has to admit he doesn’t care. He’s happy. However messed up that might be.

Before their first night together at the safehouse, before they go to sleep, they eat dinner much too late, sitting close together on the ratty sofa. Jon curls up tight at Martin’s side, his head pressed onto Martin’s shoulder despite the inconvenience and discomfort of the position. Their arms are interlocked.

(There was only one bed in the safehouse. There had been an awkward moment of silence when they saw it; Martin broke it, flustered, blushing. “I can take the sofa, it’s alright, really Jon it’s okay you can take the bed, you need a proper rest--”.

“Martin,” Jon had interrupted, and grabbed his hand. “I think we’re past that now.”

And then, yes, they had kissed. It wasn’t magical or otherworldly. It was a regular,  _ human _ kiss. But it was very good, and Martin hoped that there would be more to come.)

They eat in silence, wrapped up in each other, feeling each other’s presence even if they don’t have the energy to talk. Then they finish but they don’t move, just sit there. Look at each other. Jon’s eyes are bright and wide, Martin notices -- has noticed every day since they first met -- but they look so tired. Tired and worried. He tries to see something different in those eyes now, some new supernatural quality, something of the Eye, something inhuman. But he can’t. They’re just Jon’s eyes.

“Here,” Martin says suddenly, surprising even himself. “I want to give you something.”

Jon doesn’t say anything, but he’s watching as Martin untangles himself from Jon’s limbs and reaches back to unclasp something from around his neck. He holds it up for Jon to see, and Jon touches the small hand-shaped pendant gently, then frowns.

“An eye. Really, Martin? That’s not funny. Or, possibly, a good idea.”

Martin huffs and rolls his eyes. “No, it’s… it’s a Jewish symbol. I mean, also some other cultures use it, I think, but. I’m not an expert. It’s called a hamsa. Uh, it’s supposed to be protective.”

Jon isn’t looking at the hamsa anymore. He’s looking at Martin, head cocked to one side adorably, listening intently. Martin feels a blush growing across his face and continues.

“Actually, it’s meant to ward against the… the ‘evil eye’. Which, obviously, it hasn't done anything for me so far, but… I want you… to have it.” His voice slips into a questioning uptalk at the end.

Jon’s face has softened, and if someone was watching them right now, they might think that his eyes were tearing up.

“Thank you,” he says, quietly.

Martin leans over, puts the necklace around Jon’s neck, hooks the clasp in the back. He leaves his hands there, resting on Jon’s shoulders. The hamsa glistens silver and blue against the warm yellow sweater that Jon is wearing -- one he borrowed from Martin. Martin’s heart fills again with pins and needles, more emotion than he’s still used to after the blankness of the Lonely.

“I love you,” he states.

“I know,” Jon says.

“...Oh, shut up, you piece of--”

“I love you too, Martin.”

They’re holding hands again, fingers intertwined, and Jon presses a kiss to the back of Martin’s hand. Martin looks again at his hamsa nestled at Jon’s throat and lets himself feel happy.

Things will be okay.

**Author's Note:**

> maybe you-know-what wouldn't have happened if they had a hamsa to protect them from the evil eye... :(  
> sorry if there are typos or. if it's bad. this isn't a fic really this is just a bunch of ideas i scribbled down trying to translate vague soft feelings in my heart into something that made sense using these characters and tried to connect into something resembling at least part of a story.


End file.
